


The Path Yet Travelled

by Des_x



Series: The Graveyard [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-07 00:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/741935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Des_x/pseuds/Des_x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Harry finds the answers in the one place he least expected. His past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hero

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the beginning of 'The Graveyard', a collection of unfinished stories totalling less than three chapters. Some of them link with others and some of them are single chapters thought up in the midst of a writing fury.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry finds the answers in the one place he least expected. His past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the beginning of 'The Graveyard', a collection of unfinished stories totalling less than three chapters. Some of them link with others and some of them are single chapters thought up in the midst of a writing fury.

\--

_Someone told me that love would all save us_

_But how can that be?_

_Look what love gave us_

Hero by Chad Kroeger

\--

 

Harry can’t help but feel numb as he waits in the Headmasters office for Dumbledore. Can’t help but feel like a stranger in his own skin. He waits though. Silent, cold, numb. Waits patiently for the lecture he knows will come. Waits for the man who practically abandoned him this past year. Waits for the man who saved his life, and the lives of his friends. But through the waiting, Harry can’t help but feel numb. He wonders why he is not nervous. He wonders why his hands are not sweating, or shaking, as they usually would be. He wonders why. But he knows the answer. There is no space for him to be nervous. He is already so many other things that being nervous has no place within him. Harry dimly wonders if this is what being in shock feels like. He quickly discards this thought though. Harry finds that he doesn’t quite care.

 

It is quite some time later that Dumbledore finally walks into the office and takes his seat. Harry can see how old he looks and he can’t help but hate him. How long has he tried to consult Dumbledore’s wisdom, and yet always he has been pushed away. Before the Headmaster has even spoken, Harry can already tell that there will be disappointment. At leading his friends headlong into danger. At nearly getting them killed. At putting Sirius into a coma. Harry knows that there will be disappointment, and he can’t help but hate Dumbledore for it. If Dumbledore had only made time for him, would any of this have even happened? Harry doesn’t think so. It is for this reason alone that Harry blames Dumbledore.

But when Dumbledore speaks, there is no disappointed Headmaster, only an old man, finally showing his age, asking for forgiveness. And it is this more than anything else that Harry hates the most. Where is the venerated leader of the light? Where is the great defeater of Grindelwald? Where is his strength? Harry hates that now of all times, Dumbledore chooses to show that he is not the infallible leader that Harry has always been led to believe. And this, Harry hates. Harry hates that Dumbledore is not as strong as he supposed he was. Harry hates that the ever powerful Headmaster has now been replaced by this fragile looking old man. Harry hates Dumbledore’s weakness.

Harry can feel his hate bubbling within him, screaming for release. Like a separate entity superimposed within his body. He can feel it rolling just beneath the surface of his skin. Dimly, he is aware of the Headmaster talking of Fate, of Destiny, of prophecies foretold by half-drunk Seers. But he can’t quite hear all of it over the roaring in his ears.

 

_Neither can live while the other survives._

This is what his life has come to. Harry knows that there is no way he can kill Lord Voldemort outright. He knows that the only way that Lord Voldemort will die is if Harry dies with him. Because despite the fact that Dumbledore, his friends, the Order, seem to think that he is powerful for his age, Harry still realizes his limits. And knows that no matter how powerful he is, he will never be able to best the knowledge and skill that Lord Voldemort has accumulated over the years. Harry’s anger bubbles dangerously beneath the surface. He is fifteen years old. And already, the weight of the world has been placed on his too-thin shoulders. Harry wonders what it would be like to have a normal life; worrying only of homework, and school… Of friends and relationships. Harry wonders what it would be like to live a life of his own. Settle down sometime in the far future, have kids, start a family. Harry wonders and dreams, because he knows that he will not survive this oncoming war. Harry will die a hero. A martyr to the cause. Dumbledore continues speaking, and Harry is lost in thought.

Harry wonders if, when he dies, he will make it to Heaven where his parents surely are. He knows, through the limited church services he has attended, that those who commit suicide are denied entrance into Heaven. He knows that suicides are damned into the eternal depths of Hell. He wonders why Dumbledore would damn him to Hell. After all, isn’t that what Dumbledore is asking of him? Harry is to kill Voldemort. But no matter what, Harry knows that there is no way that he will survive the encounter. And walking in to a battle knowing you will not come out alive. Isn’t that in itself a form of suicide?

Vaguely, he is reminded of a song once heard in passing.

 

_The only difference between martyrdom and suicide is the press coverage._

 

Rita Skeeter comes to mind and Harry wonders if she will cover his death.

There is a silence as Dumbledore concludes his speech. Harry does not care. He hasn’t heard much. And though he is resigned to his premature death, Harry can’t help but hate the helpless twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes, behind half-moon glasses. Harry hates that this man, who is responsible for so much, has the nerve to look as though he _feels_ for him. Harry doesn’t care if Dumbledore feels for him or not. Harry just wishes he could rip out those thrice damned twinkling eyes.

There is a roaring in his ears as his anger bubbles closer to the surface. Closer. Closer. Closer. Until finally his anger is rippling just beneath his first layer of skin. And Harry wonders why he can’t see his skin roiling with this effort.

It is a white hot anger, this feeling so close to erupting out of Harry’s skin. A righteous anger, Harry believes it is called. And it is this righteous anger that decides to makes itself known.

 

* * *

 

\--

 

The next few days pass by in a hazy blur. If pressed, Harry doubts that he could tell you anything of importance. He can barely remember what he ate just a few hours ago at breakfast, and really, he can’t quite bring himself to care. He pretends not to notice his friends concern. Their worry. It disturbs Harry just how easy it is. Just as easy as ignoring Neville’s still broken nose. Luna’s lightly scarred face. Ron’s bruised, battered and bandaged arms. Hermione’s frequent chest pains. Ginny’s slight limp. He pretends not to notice. But he does.

He is not quite sure what he should tell them. Should he tell them the whole unabridged truth? He is inclined not to. He is a marked man. And by association his friends too, are marked. What should he say? Should he tell them that he is the only one capable of killing the Darkest Lord of all time? With a power that the Dark Lord supposedly knows not? Harry laughs, both inside and out, at Dumbledore’s folly.

According to Dumbledore it is love that will save him. Harry is disinclined to believe the Headmaster. Love will not save him. After all, isn’t Love the reason he has led this cursed existence in the first place? Harry knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help but hate the late Lily Potter. Who was she to condemn him to a life of misery and discontent? Death would have been kinder. Harry tries to push these malicious thoughts away, but always it lingers on the outskirts of his mind. Despite Harry’s skepticism at Dumbledore’s theory, there is something about what Dumbledore has told him that continues to nibble at the back of his mind.

Love, Dumbledore had said to Harry that night in the office, can be a very powerful force, my boy.

And he had stared straight at Harry, as if trying to impose some grave truth onto the young child. What was it about that sentence that has Harry lying awake at night, mulling that one sentence over and over in his head? Harry doesn’t know, but it’s starting to drive him crazy.

Love… It has something to do with love.

It is another 3 days before understanding dawns on Harry.

 

* * *

 

\--

 

It is a Saturday. Two weeks before Hogwarts concludes for the year. Two more weeks until he is forced to return, once again, to the Dursley abode. Perhaps it is this inevitable thinking that leads him down memory lane. Harry isn’t quite sure, but as he lays there, just barely awake, his memory wanders and slowly, he falls back to sleep. And Harry sleeps, and he dreams.

Harry dreams of broken bones and a screaming child. He dreams of a silenced child and dark, enclosed spaces. Harry dreams of hunger and pain. Of illness and suffering. Of a child always on the outside looking in. Harry dreams of a child’s nightmares and muffled screams. But most of all. Harry dreams of a love that transcends any that can be found on this mortal plane. He dreams of a melodious voice murmuring faintly into his ear as feather light fingers reset broken bones. He dreams of comforting words whispered gently as soft caresses smooth away tears. Harry dreams of love. And he remembers.

What he remembers the most though, was being 8 years old and wishing with all his might that all the freakishness that happened around him would stop. He wished with all his might and by the next week, he stopped remembering the comforting presence that always used to be a part of him.

 

* * *

 

\--

 

It is another whole week before Harry finds the book. It is midnight when he finally wrestles the book out of its hiding place and into a dark alcove. It is of no concern to him that he is in the Restricted Section. He takes the book and his wand, and ducks beneath his Invisibility Cloak. A quick ‘lumos’ and he is ready. The book is not much of a book. It is a diary. The writing is hurried. Cramped and spidery. Even in the best of daylight it would be hard to read. But in the middle of the night, by wand light, Harry must squint to make out the words properly. It doesn’t matter though. He needs this.

The book is untitled. But engraved on the first page is a name. Presumably the writer.

Cartellion Vista.

 

_… The fools at the ministry think that they can just completely wipe out our existence. So far they have done well. All relevant text books have been burned. All the sacred writings, gone in the flash of an Incendio. The dunderheads! All that knowledge just wasted, merely because the simpletons are incapable of understanding anyone that is different. Of course it couldn’t just stop at the writings, no… They just had to go further, they just had to make absolutely sure that we would never rise again. They call it safety. I call it idiocy at the highest level. The Knights were the first to go. After all, you cannot touch a Sorcerer until the Knight has died. All the Sorcerers are dead now. As are their Knights. I am the last, though that does not bother me. My Knight, my beloved, died just days ago ensuring my safety. Forgive me, Eherael. I could not save you. Forgive me my weakness._

_… 6 days. 6 days since my beloved was taken from my side. 6 days and already I feel that the whisperings are already driving me mad. This is why a Sorcerer is always in constant need of a Knight. A Sorcerer is not just a being of power, they are a focus. A Sorcerer takes the pure raw power from the great Mother herself and uses it to their will. But this use of power comes at a price. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. And isn’t that the truth. A Sorcerer, alone with his magic, is easily influenced by the whisperings that the power exudes. They seek to draw power from the Earth. Draw and draw and draw, and soon that Sorcerer becomes nothing more than a leech as it takes and takes and takes from the great Mother. And a Sorcerer with that much inhuman power in such a mortal body is nothing more than a demon in human skin. That is what a Knight is for. To keep a Sorcerer grounded. To keep them from becoming power hungry monsters with only destruction on their minds. How does the rhyme go? A Sorcerers Knight is a Sorcerers Light. And Eherael, beloved, you were always my light. And without you here by my side, I can feel the darkness edging ever closer to my soul. Soon it will conquer me, Eherael, and I fear that without you by my side, I have no reason to fight it._

_… Word has reached me that my cousin Godric has joined forces with Salazar, Rowena and Helga to found a school. I am glad. They are the brightest minds of our time. If anyone can pull it off. I believe it will be them. The darkness draws ever nearer and I find myself racing against time to finish this journal. Finish it before I am lost in power lust. I do not know what compels me to do so. Perhaps it is the hope that sometime, somewhere in the future, another Sorcerer may find this book and use it to resurrect the dead art of Sorcery. The ministry calls us dark for our magic. I call them narrow minded fools. My hope is that eventually, Sorcerers may once again take their place beside Wizards as equals. But perhaps my hope is merely a misplaced dream…_

_… Godric has agreed that once I am finished with this book it will be kept safe at Hogwarts. I cannot express my thankfulness at his offer. For some inexplicable reason it takes me back to the first time Mother led me to my Knight. A Knight, you see, is the perfect balance to a Sorcerer. They are equals in everything. And it is this balance that keeps a Sorcerer grounded. Because you see, an ungrounded Sorcerer is a danger to not only himself, but everyone around him as well. I was 13. My powers were becoming uncontrollable and getting out of hand. My temper was easily set off, I was rude, cold and exploded at even the slightest prodding. I was unbalanced. And so I asked the great Mother to grant me guidance and that soon led me to Eherael. My Knight. My balance. I remember when we first took our oaths._

_“Will you be mine, Eherael?” I asked._

_“Forever.” He nodded._

_“Will you guard me? Mind, body and soul?” I asked._

_“Always.” He replied._

_“In times of danger, will you be my sword?” I asked._

_And he answered, “Yea.”_

_“And in times when my sword should fail me, will you be my shield?”_

_And again he answered, “Yea.”_

_… I have wondered for a while now why there were so few Sorcerers to begin with. After lengthy talks with both Rowena and Salazar we have come to realize that it is because potential Sorcerers, the children, are rejecting their powers. When Rowena first brought this to our attention I was appalled. What kind of Sorcerer would reject his own powers? What kind of person would reject the great Mother? It was not until Rowena had elucidated the facts that I began to realize. Muggleborn Sorcerers who were scared of what their powers meant in a society that was already known for ripping to shreds anybody that was different. I was appalled. Salazar even more so. You see, Sorcery is quite unlike Wizardry. Wizardry is something that, though you are born with it, you will always have with you. A Wizards magic cannot be taken away from him because a Wizards magic comes from himself. A Sorcerer however… A Sorcerer draws his magic from the world around him, from the great Mother herself, because of course, all magic is sentient. A Sorcerer in essence, is a child favored by the great Mother. And like all Mothers, she blesses her children with their hearts content. And a child that wishes for his powers to simply be gone… Well, the great Mother has been known to grant all her children’s greatest desires._

 

* * *

 

\--

 

Harry doesn’t know why he has not remembered any of this before. He can only think that it had traumatized him so much as a child that he’d blocked it out. He doesn’t know., and he doesn’t care. Because he remembers now, and that’s all that matters. Isn’t it? Harry knows what has to be done. But how to carry it out? He has read Cartellions diary a hundred times already. Read it so many times that most of it has now been committed to memory.

He knows that he has no chance of regaining his lost power. Once wished away it is gone forever more. Harry wonders how to counteract it. What was he meant to do… Go back in time and ensure that his choices are different as a child? He contemplates this thought for half a day before he discards it. He does not want to play with time. He could end up creating a time paradox and completely erasing his existence from the world. He wonders though, what other options he has short of turning himself into a child all over again.

 

* * *

 

\--

 

His plan is flawed and sketchy, but it is suitable. For now. He has a plan to work with, a way to gain back the power that he needs to defeat Lord Voldemort. But now for the hard part. As a Sorcerer, he knows for a fact that he will need a Knight. Someone to protect him whilst he is weak and defenseless, and someone he can trust implicitly when the war finally breaks. According to the diary, the great Mother usually chooses the Knight for the Sorcerer because the match had to be perfect for the bond to be whole and strong. Harry isn’t quite sure how he will circumvent this, but he figures that there must be a way to do so. A potion, a spell. He isn’t sure how, and he might have to just wait until the great Mother chooses one for him whilst he is defenseless. He doesn’t know what he will do yet, but the outline of a plan has already been formed and he is determined to see this through.

 

* * *

 

\--

* * *

 

This is Des, back in action!

Obligatory disclaimer here: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its affiliated characters.

Remember to review and let me know what you think.

Cheers y'all!


	2. Her Diamonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry finds the answers in the one place he least expected. His past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the beginning of 'The Graveyard', a collection of unfinished stories totalling less than three chapters. Some of them link with others and some of them are single chapters thought up in the midst of a writing fury.

\--

 

_And there's so many times I don't know what I'm doing_

_Like I don't know now._

_And by the light of the moon she rubs her eyes_

_Says it's funny how the night can make you blind_

_And I can just imagine_

Her Diamonds by Rob Thomas

 

\--

 

He cannot trust this with Hermione, because he knows she will object. She will try and stop him, and Harry needs no hindrances whilst he seeks a way to destroy the Dark Lord. He cannot trust this with Ron because despite his loyalty, he will not appreciate the lengths that Harry may need to go to, to accomplish his new self-made task. Harry cannot trust this with any of his friends, and he cannot understand why this makes him happy (1). But he knows that despite his vehemence at including them, he will need help. The potion he needs, for one thing, must be brewed with nothing short of perfection. He needs help, and he knows this. The hard part, is choosing who he should approach. Already he has short listed groups of people that he can go to. But when he approaches them, Harry knows he must be absolutely sure that they will not betray him, that they will not sell him out to Voldemort, or even worse, the Ministry of Magic. Sorcery after all was a cursed magic so many years ago. He is no fool. He knows that if it gets out that he is intending to resurrect his long gone Sorcery he will be imprisoned before he will even be able to defeat Voldemort. That cannot happen, and so he needs proof that whoever he turns to for help will be loyal to him, and only him.

Vaguely, Harry wonders if Dumbledore knew more then he let on. He wonders if Dumbledore knew what lengths Harry would go to, to end the upcoming war after hearing the prophecy. He wonders, but disregards it as soon as the thought enters his mind. He needs to concentrate on what his course of action will be. Dumbledore is no longer his concern. The war is the only thing that he will let consume his mind. It is his only concern, because it will be his last.

 

* * *

 

\--

 

His list is not that long. This scares him because it means his choices are limited. But there is nothing he can change about that.

Already he has ruled out the entire Gryffindor House. Despite the fact that they would be the most loyal to his cause, he knows that anyone he chooses will sell him out to Hermione or Ron for his own ‘greater good’. There are things that he will do that many people will not approve of. He needs someone that will trust his word, even if it means that he will get hurt because of it.

He cannot trust this with anyone from the Hufflepuff House, for the same reason that he has ruled out everyone from his own house.

Ravenclaw is his best choice. If he can make it their worth their while, he knows that anyone he chooses from the House of Rowena will not betray him. But he also realizes that they may fall short in war. The person he needs to help him with his plan has to be smart. In potions as well as spell work. He needs someone that he can trust, but above everything else, he needs someone that will guard his back during the war. His Knight, after all, will be too busy guarding his front. It is this that rules out the Ravens. Despite their intellectual ability, none of them were made to handle war.

He briefly considers Luna to help him, but then thinks of her vague nature, of her tendency to run off on tangents and quickly disregards the thought. As much as he may trust Luna with his life, he knows that deep down he could never trust the fate of the war with her.

This leaves him a choice from only one house and though he feels that he should not make this choice at all, Harry knows that there will be many more things that he may do that he will not feel comfortable with. This is only the beginning of a long road. Hopefully, a road that will lead him to the end of Voldemort and his merry band of followers. Insert heavy dose of sarcasm here.

After 5 days of consideration, he has short listed 3 people. The information he has gathered on them is sketchy, but has come from a reliable source that Harry knows he can always trust. Ginny, despite her wanton ways, is as capable at gossip as Lavendar herself.

 

* * *

 

\--

 

Dinner just days before the end of the year is a quiet affair. After the breaking news from last week, people have become wary of him. They know now that he has been telling the truth the entire time. They know now that the darkest lord of all time has been resurrected. And though they do not know the prophecy, they know that the fate of the Wizarding World rests on the shoulders of a student, just like them.

The snakes have left him alone since the Ministry incident. Harry doesn’t know why, doesn’t really care either. He has to make his move on his intended target before the school year ends. He needs to get to them before Voldemort can.

Surreptitiously he scans the Slytherin table and seeks out his targets. Wondering who he will trust his life with.

 

* * *

 

\--

 

She is small. Even compared to Harry. And even though she talks with her housemates and laughs with them at the inane jokes that they are making, even from a distance, Harry can see the underlying tension. He can see the way she hunches her shoulders slightly, as if to shy away from the others. He can see the way she laughs just a little bit longer, just a little bit louder. Like a child trying to imitate his parents, but failing in his own right. She is uncomfortable, even after four years.

Tracy Davies. 14. Fourth Year. A genius in potions, but discriminated against, even in her own house because of her half-blood status. Overlooked by her own housemates, and by Snape, for her more pureblooded ‘superiors’.

Six seats up he can see his second choice. Quiet, to the point of being almost invisible. She sits at the edge of her year mates. Watching, but not contributing. Listening, but choosing not to participate in the conversation.

Daphne Greengrass. 15. Fifth Year. Ginny didn’t have much to say about her. Only that she was quite adept at potions, had declared herself neutral and refused to take sides in the blood purity debate. She talked to muggleborns and purebloods the same way. She treated everyone exactly the same, by hating them all equally. No friends, no acquaintances. No-one that could say that they’d ever talked to her for longer then 4 minutes. Not even the girls that shared a dormitory with her.

Across from her was his last choice. Quiet, like Greengrass. A watcher rather then a participator. But unlike Daphne, who was mostly ignored during the conversation, his opinion was sought every now and again as Theodore Nott turned to him and questioned him quietly. Harry could see it in the way that Pansy turned to him sometimes and offered secret smiles or shared laughs at jokes that seemed over the head of the other conversation participants.

Blaise Zabini. Same age and year as Greengrass. Same stance on blood purity as well. His mother was infamous as ‘The Black Widow’. Seven husbands. All of them obscenely rich. All of them dead, after leaving Lady Zabini everything in their will. The circumstances of their deaths were a subject that was whispered about in secret with hands covering mouths and silent sniggering and jeers. Blaise however, seemed to be incredibly close to Theodore Nott, whose father was a Death Eater, of that Harry was sure. Despite this however, Harry is hesitant at crossing Zabini off of his list entirely. His skills at potions making is legendary. His expertise at potions second only to Malfoy and that is enough for Harry to keep him on his shortlist.

Harry doesn’t quite know who he can trust, and for now he will watch and observe. He can make his move tomorrow at the very earliest, and on the train at the very latest. For now, he is content in listening to the happy chatter of his friends as he observes his choices out of the corner of his eyes.

 

* * *

 

\--

 

When darkness falls, Harry is unable to sleep. Ron’s snoring has reached a new record of loud. Neville’s constant murmuring under his breath is just annoying and three beds down, Seamus is acquainting himself with his right hand. Silencer be damned, Harry grabs his Invisibility Cloak and is out of the dormitory, running down the stairs, and stalking the empty corridors in less time then it takes for Ron to finish his first plate of food. He wanders aimlessly. No care as to where he might end up. He treads paths both familiar and unfamiliar. His mind only on the beat that his feet taps against the hard stone floor of the corridors. He is careful to avoid routes that he knows Prefects patrol at this time. He avoids floors and corridors that Filch is known to frequent. It is as he passes the third floor corridor, reminiscing about Fluffy and his memories of his first year that he hears the crying.

It is quiet. As if the person has been crying for quite some time. Strained as if they are finally out of breath. Heedless of the little voice in his head screaming that it is a bad idea, Harry follows the sound.

 

* * *

 

\--

 

Maybe it’s a sign from some higher power, or maybe it’s just one big coincidence, but when Harry rounds the corner he can’t help but let out a small inaudible chuckle. Go figure.

Nearby, an open window sheds a sliver of moonlight onto the hunched figure. Harry thinks it looks like a cut scene right from the script of Romeo and Juliet: Hogwarts Style. She sits at the foot of some out of the way stairs, curled up against the steps rising above her. Her arms are enfolded around her head as she buries her face and weeps. Stray tears fall past her arms and splash against the steps underneath her body. Ironic that her tears looked so much like the crystalline diamonds that the Greengrass family had founded their fortune on.

Her uniform is wrinkled and scrunched. Her skirt bunched up around her thighs as her legs sprawl ungracefully beneath her. Her tie loose, her shirt creased, her standard school robe discarded on the floor beside her. Her snake insignia is enough for Harry to know that the best course of action would be to walk away and to pretend he saw nothing. He can’t do this though.

Around the corner he shoves his Invisibility Cloak in to his pocket and pats himself down for a handkerchief. Coming up short he makes do with transfiguring a scrap piece of paper into a cloth.

Walking back to the staircase, Harry tries to make his footsteps as light as possible. She doesn’t hear him anyway. It’s not until his hand taps her on the shoulder lightly that her head snaps up to attention. He shoves the cloth in her face before she can see who exactly it is that has interrupted her. She slaps away his hand though and glares back at him as he offers her a hesitant smile.

 

* * *

 

\--

 

Ten minutes later and Harry still can’t quite believe that he is sitting on an out of the way stairwell with Daphne Greengrass at 2 o’clock in the morning. He wonders why exactly Greengrass is even tolerating his presence. He thinks though, that maybe even she needs someone to talk to. They speak of inconsequential things at first. Things that don’t matter. And through it all she swipes at the stray tears that continue to leak from the corner of her eyes. Finally, Harry can’t help but quench his curiosity. He asks her tentatively if she is okay and he can see the debate that rages inside her. Her eyes are quite expressive, despite the fact that her face is as stony as the steps that they sit upon. She answers moments later, and Harry is quite shocked that she is answering so candidly. Her answer though, also contributes to his shock.

“No. I’m not okay. Not at all.” She stares unseeing at the stone walls that surround them and by the light of the moon she rubs her eyes and Harry isn’t quite sure what he should do.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“Would you even understand?” Her laugh is scornful, but Harry can see through it. See the desperation, and most importantly, see the fear.

“Would it matter?”

She seems to struggle with herself momentarily.

“You-” She trails off, as if trying to find the words.

“You don’t know what it’s like for people like us. People like me.”

“Explain it.”

She seems surprised by his words but continues nonetheless.

“My father died last year. It was- an extremely hard blow for the family. The Greengrass family is predominantly male. Which is why, when my father died, everyone was shocked. Not because he’d died. But because he’d died without leaving behind a _male_ heir. You see, in my family, everything is passed through the male heirs. Can you understand that?”

Harry nods and again, she continues.

“As a daughter, I’m not worth much. But as the eldest daughter, well- that changes things, doesn’t it?”

Her laugh is bitter and Harry waits. She seems lost in contemplation though, so he voices his question.

“How does that change anything?”

“It means that whoever I marry will end up owning everything my family has. All of the work my father, and my grandfather and my ancestors… Everything they worked their whole lives for and my mother intends to sell it to the highest bidder.”

There is disgust, but most of all, there is hatred.

“You have to understand- My father, he worked so hard for the fortune my family has. Just like his father before him. And- it’s-” She trails off.

“You were close to him them?”

A nod. Nothing more. Not that it’s needed.

“You’re scared of who your mother will marry you off to?”

She shakes her head fervently.

“I already know the kind of man my mother will marry me off to. A dark wizard. Most likely years and years older then me. Most likely a Death Eater and most likely marrying me just so he can get his hands on the family fortune.”

Harry can understand. The Greengrass fortune is so vast that in the world they were ranked in the top 10 most wealthiest families. A feat only achieved by 2 other British families.

“A Death Eater?”

She scoffs at the question.

“Don’t be stupid, Potter. Who do you think actually funds their cause? The clothes, the food, the potions needed to heal the wounded, the properties used as bases. You honestly think the Dark Lord would sully himself by paying for everything out of his own pocket?”

A good observation. Something that Harry has never thought of before.

“It is an _honour_ to serve the Dark Lord with whatever one can. The more you can provide, the more you are rewarded. How do you think Lucius Malfoy managed to worm his way into the inner circle? Not that it‘s helping him now that he‘s fallen out of favour, what with the whole Ministry debacle.”

Harry cannot quite believe that he is having this conversation with Daphne Greengrass. He keeps his mouth shut however and listens intently. This is his moment to make his move. It may be quite underhanded, but he needs this.

“Any man I marry will sell off everything that my family worked for just to be in favour with the Dark Lord. My family fortune… Everything… All of it will be gone, and I will have nothing.”

This explains some of the fear, but it does explain why she is so hysterical about it.

“There’s more. Isn’t there?”

She flinches and seems to hunch into herself. In this moment she looks less like a Pureblood Princess and more like a scared little girl that wants to curl up in her father’s arms.

Her tone is cold when she resumes speaking.

“I will be the wife of a Death Eater. And depending on who my husband will be, that may be the very thing that will kill me.”

A pause. A hesitation. She continues though. It is as if now that she has begun voicing her fears, she cannot seem to stop the words from pouring from her mouth.

“Not all of the wives have it as easy as Narcissa. Not all of them are so lucky to be protected by their family. Some of them… They get used. Passed around like some _toy_ from one person to another.”

Harry is disgusted at the words that he hears, but still he keeps his silence.

“And my sister- Astoria. Merlin… She’s _13_! She’d be forced into it and no-one would be there to help her and she’d be just as worse off as any of the other unprotected wives.”

And there it is, lain bare before him. She is scared for herself, but she is petrified at what may happen to her sister. Harry almost feels sorry that in the end, he will be using her. Almost that is. He discards the feeling quickly enough. He will make it worth her while.

The silence trails off into awkwardness and she seems to realize that she has spilt her inner-most fears to a complete stranger.

“Isn’t there someone you can turn to?”

When she laughs, it is mocking, scornful, and just this side of hysterical.

“Like who, Potter?” She bites out viciously. “Malfoy’s already running himself ragged trying to save the others. Professor Snape is more concerned with saving his own skin then anyone else’s. And Dumbledore? Don’t make me laugh. He’d rather have me as a puppet than ensure my safety.”

There is a silence that Harry isn’t quite sure how to break. What do you say to someone who has no options left in life?

In the back of his mind, he tucks away her words concerning Malfoy and Snape.

“What if… I could help you?”

She gives an unkind laugh.

“Oh really, Potter? And what would you do? Bid for my hand in marriage?”

“If that is what it takes.”

Her tears are dried by now, but still Harry can make out the tracks that they have left on her face.

“And what would you want in return?”

Ever the Slytherin.

“Two favours. That’s it.”

She seems hesitant, but the deal is too good to be true.

“My mother would never marry me off to you.”

“Then I’ll make my bid under another name.”

“A marriage contract cannot be signed through-”

“I am a Potter, Greengrass. I have other Lordly titles that have been used by my family in the past.”

He isn’t actually quite sure of this, but she seems to have accepted his answer easily enough. He will have to research into his family’s past to make sure that there are indeed other titles that he may use. But it will be worth it.

Daphne Greengrass will owe him and that will be enough to ensure her loyalty during the war.

“And your favours?”

“Simple enough. One: I require you to brew me a potion. One potion. A simple enough potion, and entirely legal, but I need it brewed perfectly. No mistakes, no exceptions. Perfect.”

A nodding of her head. Acceptance.

“And two: I-” He struggles to find the words, “I need you to train. Potions, spells, curses. Whatever I tell you, I need you to master it.”

She is confused, but he elaborates.

“You’ll be targeted for this, and what I do not need during the war is a dead wife. I cannot promise that I will always protect you. There may be times when I may be too late. It would be best if you were capable of protecting yourself.”

Again she nods. She can understand what he asks of her. He wants her to train her to keep her safe. Ever the gentleman.

“And that is all? No other favours in return for our marriage?”

He shakes his head. He knows he could always ask for her utmost loyalty, and for her to protect him during his times of weakness, but he will wait. By the time he has need of her, he is sure that he will have already inspired her loyalty, and her willingness to serve at his side.

Underhanded, yes. But he is doing more than enough in return. And she will never know.

“And my family fortune? What will you do with it?”

He shrugs at the words.

“Nothing. I’ll write a clause in the marriage contract. You can have it.”

Shock that he would discard so much wealth without even considering it.

“Would you like some time to think?”

She shakes her head. She knows that this will be the best offer she will ever have. Harry will protect her to the best of his abilities and through extension, her sister will also be protected. The family fortune will be hers and through it, she will be able to pay for the protection of her sister, should Harry’s protections prove to fail.

“Do we have an accord, Mr. Potter?”

He smiles as he shakes her hand.

“Aye, Miss Greengrass. We have an accord.”

And they did.

 

* * *

\--

 

Harry has agreed to make his first bid for her hand in marriage during the first week of holidays. He has much to prepare for before that though. Much that he needs to see done. She had asked what potion he would require, but he has her waiting instead. Better to ensure that they are married before Daphne makes the potion. To Harry it is obvious enough. Prove to her that he follows through with his word and she will be even more indebted to him. It is purely a selfish reason.

He does not consider what marrying a girl (for she is not quite a woman just yet) who he does not even love, will do to him. He does not care. It is just another sacrifice that he will make to end the war. According to Dumbledore, after all, the ends will always justify the means.

 

* * *

\--

 

(1) I honestly think Harry would be the type of person to be happy knowing that his friends wont be helping him on another dangerous adventure that could potentially get them killed.

Okay, so you  guys know the drill.

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\- Des.


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